A giant monster ravages an Asian city. Meanwhile in small-town America two small-town Americans discover they are the key link to events half a world away as a result of something that happened to them as kids. Sound stupid and ridiculous? That’s because it is.
Here’s another possible opening paragraph to this review. (They just roll off the tongue. Crap films are good to review that way.) We get it. Too much booze rots your brain in ways you never intended. Innocent people get hurt. The giant monsters are metaphors, the Godzillas of alcoholism. I wanted to suspend my disbelief, I really did. But Colossal is just so contrived and so flimsy and so, well, awful.
OK, that’s enough opening paragraphs. Suffice to say that Colossal, from beginning to end, is an exercise in the absurd. It’s even hard to see how Colossal has an M rating. There’s no blood, you don’t see anyone get killed, there’s no nudity. I’d let my kids see this. Sure there’s plenty of swearing but there is at home too!
When it comes to monster movies, Colossal is a pygmy.
Now that would’ve been a good opening paragraph.
